Something Wingêd This Way Comes
by Runt Thunderbelch
Summary: The City Watch can't help noticing when a mad scientist plans to return the noble dragons to Discworld.   My first attempt at a Discworld story.  Please review.  -Uh oh, FanFic turns footnotes into endnotes.  It's not my fault.
1. Nothing

Special thanks to:

LilMaibe for encouraging me to write this story

and to

OldStoneface for telling me how to make it better!

**Something Wingêd This Way Comes**

By Runt Thunderbelch

Nothing

"Fancy a little game?" asked Fate, His black eyes gleaming.

The Lady looked at Him. "You said you'd never play against me again. You claimed I cheated."

"I spoke hastily. Everyone knows Fate cannot be cheated."

The Lady looked coolly at Him. Her eyes of green were unreadable. "What did You have in mind?"

"Perhaps a little Dragons and Dungeons and Dwarves?"

"Hmmmm, I haven't played D&D&D in a golem's age. All right." The two gods strolled to the central playing area of Cori Celestia. The other gods, bored with their tinkering with the universe, gathered around. The Lady smiled. "Your move."

Fate's hand reached out a moved the first playing piece.

̼

A dark and cloaked figure slowly perused the aisles of No. 4, Tenth Egg Street, Ankh-Morpork. He stopped at a bin marked, _Exploding Powder_.

Jack Proust hurried up to him. "Welcome to Boffo's Novelty and Joke Shop, sir. How can we be of service today?"

Two eyes peered at him from underneath a single eyebrow. "I'm looking for naught holes."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Naught holes, to wit, holes that do and do not exist at the same time."

Proust blinked, "I'm afraid those kinds of things don't really exist, sir. They're just a silly myth."

"Mmm-humm," nodded the customer. A black-gloved hand emerged from out of the cloak and pointed at the powder. "Does this truly explode?"

"Oh yes sir, well that is, when it's properly prepared. Just sitting out like that, well, if it caught fire, it'd simply hiss and pop like a dragon with indigestion, ha ha. But if it is enclosed in a container . . ." He scurried down the aisle and came back with a fake egg. He popped the egg open, filled it with some powder, closed it, used his pocket knife to drill a small hole in one end, and then inserted a Boffo's Gen-u-wine Fisslestick. With flint and steel, he lit the fisslestick and hurled the egg to the far end of the store.

KAAAABBBLLLAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM! The mud-and-straw wall collapsed, shelves crashed to the floor, and part of the ceiling caved in.

"Oh dear."

The dark figure nodded. "Quite effective. I will take one pound."

"An entire pound? Very good, sir! I shall just wrap it up for you!"

"Not too tightly, hmmm."

"What? Oh yes, I see, ha ha ha. One pound you say? I am a lucky man today!" Proust suddenly stopped laughing and looked back at the destroyed end of his shop.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," replied the stranger. "I believe it was Fate."

̼

"Your move," said Fate.

The Lady reached out and moved a pair of dwarves. As Fate was studying Her move, She kind of accidentally nudged a troll and a little scruffy dog. Who said Fate couldn't be cheated?

̼

As luck would have it, Runt Thunderbelch was having a really bad day. He jerked his mug of beer off the bar and tromped to booth in one of the darker corners of the cave. Runt sat and drank deeply.

"Look here," said a female voice in the next booth.

"Where did you get- It's a book! Where?"

"Shhh! You'll get us both in trouble."

Runt glowered. These two females didn't know the meaning of the word _trouble_. He could give them such a lecture.

"What is that?"

"It's a picture of the sky."

"The sky? Why is it blue?"

"Because, I dunno, the sky's blue."

"What are these things."

"They're trees. Kinda like moss, only much taller."

"Wow, these are the prettiest bats I've ever seen!"

"They're birds."

"What're birds?"

"They're kind of like bats . . . only prettier."

"Oh."

"I'd give anything if I could go up and see the surface."

"Shhhh, talk like that will get you in so much trouble!"

"I don't care! If someone could lead me up there, I'd give him anything he asked for."

"Lapis Lazuli! That kind of talk will get you in even more trouble!"

"I don't care! I don't care! And what's the matter with your eyes anyways?"

"My eyes?"

"Yeah, they're all green."

"Oh, uh green? Uh, I've been digging in that new vein of copper. Must have gotten some in my eyes. Don't worry about it."

Runt took a thoughtful sip on his beer. A dwarf maiden who was willing to do anything for a guided trip to the surface. It sounded to him as if he were about to get lucky . . . for a change.

̼

"Woof, woof," said Gaspode as he trotted through the door of the Pseudopolis Yard stationhouse followed by Detritus, who held a dark and cloaked suspect upside down by one ankle.

Sergeant Angua was on desk duty. "What's this?"

"Suspicious suspect, darlin'," replied the dog. "Caught him sneaking along Tenth Egg Street." He turned and saw Detritus looking at him in confusion. "Don't be daft, ya big troll. You're smart enough to know that dogs can't talk. Give the cute puppy a dog biscuit, woof, woof."

Detritus blinked and said, "Yeah," as he began patting his pockets. "Dis ugly guy was creepin' along, so I told him, 'Stop in de name of de law.' But he don't stop. He starts running. So I grab him and bring him here."

The suspect squirmed in the powerful grip. "I was merely traversing a public street. You can't arrest me for that!"

"Can too," rumbled Detritus.

Angua came around the desk. This man even smelled of evil. "And so just why were you traversing this particular street?"

"I don't have to say anything. But you have to read me my rights!"

She nodded. "Lance Corporal Detritus, you heard the man. Read him his rights."

"You have de right to answer our questions. If you give up dis right, I have de right to break every bone in your body. Do you understan' dese rights as I have 'splained dem to you?"

Gaspode was looking up expectedly. "Bones?"

"Ten-SHUN!" Captain Carrot strode into the room. "Lance Corporal, I don't believe those rights are the ones you were taught, are they?"

"Um, no Captain."

The suspect squirmed again. "So put me down, you big pile of rocks!"

Captain Carrot bent over and looked into the suspect's face. It was a hatchet face, with a single eyebrow stretching across its entire width. "So, why were you there?"

"I don't have to tell you nothin', copper!"

Carrot gave him a warm, friendly smile. "How about at least telling me your name. Just like we were having a cozy chat. I'm Captain Carrot, and you are . . ?"

"Buzz off, flatfoot."

"Oh dear." Carrot straightened up. "Lance Corporal, check his i.d., if you please."

The troll, still holding the suspect's ankle with one hand, patted him down with the other. First he found a bad filled with about a pound of suspicious looking powder.

"What's dis?"

"Oh, my medication. I have, uh, a condition."

Detritus finished patting him down. "He ain't got no wallet."

"What?" shrieked the suspect.

Carrot took two giant steps and seized Cpl. Nobbs just as he was leaving the room.

"Hey!" squealed the little man1. When Carrot plucked the wallet from Nobby's hands, he blurted, "Hey! I found that on the floor! I was just bringing it back to him!"

Carrot ignored him. He began thumbing through the wallet's meager contents. "If found," Carrot read the words off a card, "please return to Q.E.D. Ipsofacto, Ph.D."

Gaspode snickered, "Return a wallet? You haven't been an Ankh-Morpork for too long, have you? Give the cute little doggie a treat."

Angua looked over Carrot's bulging shoulder at the card. "What's the Ph.D. stand for?"

A snide response started to form on the suspect's lips, but then happened to look up into her eyes and forgot what he was going to say.

"Pseudoscientim hucksteria, Doctoris," explained Carrot, who knew every bit of trivia this sprawling city had to offer, far better than anyone who was born and raised here. "The good doctor here is a graduate of the College of Certitude. It's a little place down on Locus Lane." Carrot put the card back in the wallet and returned it to the suspect. "So I'm Captain Carrot. You're Dr. Ipsofacto, and you were traversing Tenth Egg Street. Why?"

"How many times do I have to say it," snarled Dr. Ipsofacto. "I'm not going to tell you a bloody thing! The law says I don't have to talk, so I won't!"

"Indeed you don't," replied Carrot amicably. "Lance Corporal, we won't be booking this gentleman. There's just no evidence to justify an arrest. However, he does have vital evidence to a crime which was about to be committed, and so we'll be holding him as a material witness until he decides to talk. Take him downstairs and lock him in a cell, will you please?"

"What? You can't do that!"

"Ask him what he was searching for," suggested Gaspode. When Carrot shot a look at him, Gaspode added weakly, "bow wow?"

"Nothing!" gasped the upside-down suspect. Then he began to laugh, "I was looking for nothing! Ha ha ha. Nothing! Ha ha! Nothing! BwuhahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOTHING! BWAHAHAHA!"

̼

High up in the Little Big Tiny Mountains, Lapis Lazuli was gazing in wonder at a serene mountain lake surrounded by towering pine trees. "It's so beautiful!"

The two dwarves were the only creatures on two legs anywhere above ground.

"Yes, it is beautiful." Runt Thunderbelch wasn't looking at the lake. He had taken a step back and was gazing at Lapis's well armored backside. Runt had agreed to guide the dwarf maiden out of the mine and was taking this opportunity to ogle her long flowing hair and beard, her sparkling eyes, and her well-polished armor. It was time to make his move. . .although he had not yet figured out exactly what move to make.

She grabbed his forearm and with wild eyes exulted, "Let's go skinny dipping!"

"Okay." That would do nicely.

Their armor rattled enthusiastically onto the ground at the base of a grove of pine trees. Seconds later, they were hand in hand, with their jiggling portions wiggling as they raced to the top of a giant boulder overlooking the lake.

"I dare you," she said to him, looking down into the lake.

"I dare you right back," he retorted. "Wait. We should jump together. On the count of three, all right? One, two, three!"

They jumped.

Okay, let's think about this for a minute. What is in the lake? Water, right? And where does this water come from? Well, from the rivers and streams which feed into the lake, right? And how does the water get into the rivers and streams? Well, the snow in the mountains melts and drips down, gathers, and pretty soon you get a stream. Some streams join together, and you get a river, right? Okay, and so what is the temperature of the water in the lake? Oh, just a fraction of a degree above freezing.

Lapis Lazuli and Runt Thunderbelch plunged deep into the water. As the icy shock took them, all of their jiggling portions immediately ceased wiggling.

Runt struggled back up to the surface as fast as he could.

Lapis, screaming, shot out of the water like a rocket salmon and came down on him, grasping him tightly for any body heat that he had left. She was shaking like the ground during a cave in. "It's so c-c-c-c-cold! G-g-g-get me out of here!"  
>Runt couldn't help noticing that, at this exact moment, the woman of his dreams was stark naked and was wrapped around him so tightly that, if any blood had been flowing anywhere in his body, she would have cut off the circulation. "W-w-w-why? It's f-f-f-f-fine!"<p>

"G-g-g-get me out of here!"  
>It was a matter of pleasure versus pain. It was very pleasurable having the naked Lapis Lazuli wrapped around him. In contrast, hearing his bones start to crackle under the pressure of her grip was a harbinger of so much pain. So Runt reluctantly waded ashore, where Lapis dismounted.<p>

The both bent over, shivered, and gasped for breath.

"Oh no!"

Runt looked up. "What is it?"

"All of our clothes are gone!"

It was only then Runt realized that they had piled their armor at the edge of a grove of naughty pines. The impish trees had stolen everything! The wind blew thought their branches making a snicker sound while pinecones knocked together and sounded like chuckling.

"This isn't funny!2" roared Runt.

Somewhere off in the distance, a mountain hyena went into hysterics.

̼

Dr. Q.E.D. Ipsofacto paced angrily in his jail cell. Sure, he could use the exploding powder "medication" to open up the jail cell, but then where would he be? Deep within the bowels of the Pseudopolis Yard stationhouse, that's where. But there was a better way.

Dr. Ipsofacto couldn't help noticing that the guard's random walk-bys had become less and less frequent. He stood and unfastened his belt. His belt buckle looked like a big, wooden ring, but it was so much more. He unfastened it from his belt and then tied to two ends of his belt together.

He put both thumbs into the ring and began to gently but firmly pull. The wood began to slowly stretch and stretch and stretch. Soon he had a loop about two feet in diameter. He put his head into it and let the loop descend around his entire body. In a few seconds, he was through.

He found himself back home, standing in his own laboratory.

Igor looked up from where he was cleaning test tubes. "Good evening, Mathter. I didn't hear you come in. Have you had lunch? It'll only take me a moment to whip thumthing up."

̼

Gender discrimination is so unfair. For example, when Lapis and Runt returned to the mine, _sans amoure_, Lapis's parents sequestered her in her crevasse for a month. However, the Under King of the Little Big Tiny Mountains banished Runt from his mines forever. That seemed a little harsh.

Now an outcast, Runt donned his spare suit of armor, took his axe and started down the rocky slopes. The Under King had also denied Runt any gold, and a dwarf without gold is hardly a dwarf at all.

He passed by the grove of naughty pines. They were still giggling.

Runt stopped and glared at the trees. They tried to stop, but all they managed to do was to make some choking nasal sounds before the laughter exploded out of them again.

Fury swelled within Runt. He stepped up to the nearest pine and CHOP! CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, CHOP!3

Severed branches lay at Runt's feet. He noticed they were all hollow. But they'd have to be, wouldn't they, if the naughty pines were going to bend their limbs in order to, say, steal someone's clothes. Runt had heard of "naught holes" and knew that to some folks, these holes were very valuable.

So he chopped the limbs into donut-shaped pieces, put the pieces in his empty treasure pouch, and continued down the slope.

̼

Captain Carrot, Sergeant Angua, and Lance Corporal Detritus stared in consternation into Dr. Ipsofacto's empty jail cell.

"Dere's nobody dere," observed the troll.

"Where did he go?" asked Carrot.

Angua sniffed. Dr. Ipsofacto has been in the cell all right, but there was no odor of any path left by him when he exited. He hadn't gone out the door. He hadn't escaped through the barred window. She reported to Carrot what her nose told her.

Carrot nodded thoughtfully. "Commander Vimes once taught me that, if you eliminate the impossible, anything which is left – no matter how improbable – is what happened. So, what have we eliminated?"

"Everything."

"And what is left?"

"Nothing."

Carrot scratched his big, square chin. "I think we should call in Commander Vimes."

̼

At the very base of the Little Big Tiny Mountains, stood the Temple of Zed. Runt approached the marble edifice with awe.

Every dwarf knew that marble was limestone which had been compressed over eons under mind-boggling pressure and in heat so great it would make a dragon tap dance. Marble was extremely rare and valuable. It was impossible ignore the combination of its beauty and its unimaginable value. Runt Thunderbelch stumbled forward as if he were being drawn by a magnet.

Before the glistening temple, was a gigantic Zero, carved from a single piece of ultra-rare pink marble. Acolytes were kowtowing before it, worshipping the gigantic numeral.

Runt went up to the priest who was overseeing the service. Curious, the dwarf asked, "Is Nothing sacred?"

The priest did not turn. "Aye," he said. "Zed is the Great Destroyer and the Great Creator. Hallowed be His name. All vanishes at His touch. Infinity times Zero is . . . Zero. Yet, divide anything by Zero, and it becomes infinite. Yea, we mortals arise from nothing, and to nothing, we return. A wise man contemplate Zero, stranger, for when a man understands nothing, he understands everything."

Runt thought about this. He reached into his treasure bag, pulled out one of the donut holes, and held it up before the priest.

"What is that?"

"A naught hole."

"It looks like a hole. How can you say it's not a hole?"

"It _is_ a hole. It's a naught hole."

"So it is, and it is not, a hole?"

"Uh, um, er . . . precisely."

"Hmmmmm, interesting." The priest took the piece of wood and examined it. "Lo, it bears the holy shape of Zero."

"That it does. So, how much will you pay me for it?"  
>"Nothing."<p>

"Nothing? Nothing? It's nature's manifestation of your Great God! How can you say you'll pay be nothing for it? Why that's practically blasphemy!"

"You're right," said the priest. "I'll double my price."

"Now wait a minute!"

"All right. I'll triple it! Now, are you happy?"

"You're still offering me ZERO!"

"Hallowed be His name."

"Offer me gold."

"Bah, gold is nothing!"

"Then offer me twice as much. Offer me diamonds."

"Diamonds are nothing."

"Offer me rubies, and emeralds, and sapphires!"

"Nothing, nothing, and still more nothing."

"And so my grand total is . . . ?"

"Nothing."

"Fine. I take all that I can carry."

The priest regarded Runt. "Allow me to enlighten you, stranger. Can you guess how much our collection plate held at the end of our last holy service?"

"Um . . . nothing?"  
>"And the collection before that? And the one before that?"<p>

"Nothing and nothing?"

The priest shrugged helplessly. "So you see my problem."

"Are you saying you can do nothing to help me?"

A long pause ensued. "Well, perhaps. -About a week ago, I came across that most mysterious man who dwells in the dark tower down by the river. He seemed to be searching for something. I ask him what it was, he said, 'Nothing.' I of course was delighted and tried to enlighten him in the ways of Zed. But he said Zed was not the nothing he was looking for. Perhaps your curious 'naught holes' will satisfy his needs."

̼

His Grace, Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh-Morpork and Commander of the City Watch strode into the station house. Lumbering after him ambled the Chair of Indefinite Studies, still chewing on a braised albatross leg, seasoned with paprika and dill.

"What's the problem, Carrot?"

"We've had an escape, sir, a most bizarre one."

"I heard. That's why I brought along . . ." Sam shot a thumb over his shoulder at the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"I say," said the rotund wizard cheerily, "are we actually going to see incarcerated miscreants?"

"This way," said Carrot and he led the way down to the cells. "We were holding him as a material witness, but when the guard did his routine walk-by, the man was gone. The cell's still locked, and there's no sign of any break out."

The Chair of Indefinite Studies sniffed. "Was he by any chance wearing a pointy hat?"

"No sir, a hooded cloak."

"Hmmmm, then definitely not a wizard. Still, won't do any harm to check, eh what?" He rummaged through his collection of pockets and finally located a pair of large-lensed 8-D spectacles. When he put them one, the colors of the lenses began shifting from red, to orange, to yellow, to green, to blue, to indigo, to violet, to octorine. The Chair of Indefinite Studies sniffed again and removed the spectacles. "It's just as I thought," he announced. "There's been no magic used in this cell for months, perhaps years."

"He had a card on him," said Carrot, "which indicated he graduated from the College of Certitude."

"C.C.?" The Chair of Indefinite Studies frowned. "Not U.U.?"

"Yes, yes."

"Uh oh."

"Woof, woof," added Gaspode, just to keep up his end of the conversation.

Sam Vimes frowned. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'm sure of it," replied the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "But where to get an entire roast pig on such short notice?"

"No, I'm thinking that if he didn't use the door or window to escape, and if he didn't use magic, then he most likely used quantum."

"Oooooh," moaned the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "I hate that stuff."

"Me too," nodded Sam. He asked Carrot, "Did the man do or say anything peculiar?"

"You mean like: 'Nothing. I was looking for nothing! Ha ha ha. Nothing! Ha ha! Nothing! BwuhahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOTHING! BWAHAHAHA!'?"  
>"Oh my god," breathed Sam. "We've got a mad scientist on the loose."<p>

̼

The twin doors of the dark tower down by the river boasted a pair of giant knockers. Runt lifted one of the heavy iron rings and let if fall. BOOM!

A moment later, a shuffling sound could be heard inside and one of the doors was opened by a hunchback with more scars than a post-war surgery. "Yeth? May I help you?"

"No," replied Runt holding up one of his naught holes and smiling. "May I help you?"

Igor gazed at the naught hole. "Oh, the mathter will be tho pleathed. Come in, won't you?"

1 The Gamblers' Guild was laying 8-5 odds that Nobby was indeed human.

2 "This isn't funny!" is the only sentence in the history of both the Discworld and the Roundworld which, whenever spoken, has always been untrue. No matter what circumstances give rise to this utterance, whenever this phrase is spoken, whatever happened immediately before was as funny as a hound dog on roller skates.

3 Moral: Never laugh at an axe-wielding dwarf.


	2. This, That & The Other

2. This, That & the Other

Uh oh. A dark and cloaked figure was descending the spiral staircase of the tower. This was never a good sign.

"Who is our guest, Igor?"

"Runt."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Runt Thunderbelch. That's my name," said the dwarf.

"Hmmm. It's a splendid name, to be sure. I am Doctor Q.E.D. Ipsofacto, and this, of course is Igor."

Igor grinned, showing a set of teeth that reminded one of a panorama of gravestones lit by moonlight. "Mathter, he cometh bearing naught holeth."

Dr. Ipsofacto's step hesitated. "Er, naught holes? Really?"

"Yes, due to a curious set of circumstances I find myself with an excess of naught holes and a great need of gold." He pulled one of the naught holes out of his treasure bag and held it up. "I'm looking to make a trade."

"Naught holes for gold?"

The dwarf nodded expectedly.

"Why of course. That's no problem at all."

Igor's eyes opened in surprise, and one even fell out. He caught the eyeball on the way down and put it back in before anyone noticed."

"Say uh, you're a dwarf aren't you?"

Runt glanced down at his flowing beard, studded armor and proximity to the floor. "And if I am?"

"Then you have no magical powers whatsoever, do you?"

"Thertainly not, Mathter," blurted Igor. "A dwarf ith ath non-magical ath any creature can be. Not affected by magic and completely unable to catht any magical thpellth."

"Hmmmmmm."

Runt squirmed. "Why are you 'Hmmmmmming' at me?"

"Tell me, Runt. Are you . . . looking for a job?"

"No. Of course not. Well, maybe. Does it pay? In gold?"

Dr. Ipsofacto smiled a crocodile smile. "Why, of course."

Igor raised a dubious eyebrow. It got stuck there, and he hammered on it until it released.

"How much?"

"Oh well," Dr. Ipsofacto did some mental calculations. "Let's say for the naught holes and for your first week's wages . . . oh . . . five Anhk-Morpork dollars? In gold, of course."

Igor's heart stopped, but his back-up heart kicked in.

"Fi-fi-fi-five dollars?" gasped Runt. "Well, yes, that will do. That will do nicely. Quite nicely indeed. Five? As in one-more-than-four? Five?"

"So tell me, uh, Runt. What do you think of dragons?"

"Dragons? Cute little beasties," the dwarf replied. "Of course, they're not as tasty as rats."

"No, no, no, no!" Dr. Q.E.D. Ipsofacto snapped. "Not swamp dragons. The . . . uh . . . other kind."

"Other kind?"

"You know." He wiggled his single, impossibly long, thick, hairy eyebrow. "The _other_ kind."

"Uh, the only 'other kind' are the noble dragons, and they don't really exist now, do they?"

His insane eyes gazed deeply into Runt's. "Don't they?"

Lightning split the darkening sky outside. Thunder echoed. Rain began to pelt the tower wall. Runt swallowed hard. What had he gotten himself into?

Dr. Ipsofacto's head popped up. "Lightning! Quick follow me!" He charged up the spiral staircase of the tower to the highest room with Igor and the dwarf following.

Igor hurried to the window where a kite sat. He prepared to launch a kite out into the thunderstorm.

"What are you waiting for, Igor? Now. Now! NOW!"

Igor hung the kite out of one of the windows and let the howling wind sweep it away.

Runt was looking at his new employer for an explanation.

"I have a theory," pontificated Dr. Ipsofacto, "that lightning is a form of electricity. With this experiment, I intend to prove it."

Igor whispered quietly to Runt. "I know it'th electrithity and you know it'th electrithity, but geniuth over here ithn't too thure. Tomorrow, maybe we'll prove that water ith wet."

The scientist continued, "Igor is flying a kite up into the thunderclouds. As the kite string becomes wet, it becomes capable of conducting electricity. When a lightning bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the string to that key tied near Igor's hand. Now, observe this carefully."

Blinding lightning flashed. Dr. Ipsofacto was flung in one direction while Runt flew off in the opposite direction. Igor was propelled backwards across the room, bounced off the wall by the spiral staircase, screamed, and went tumbling head-over-heels-over-elbows-over-hips-etcetera down the staircase.

Dr. Ipsofacto and Runt clambered back up to their feet and staggered over to the stairs.

"Yieee!" Thump, thump, bump. "Oh no!" Crash, thud. "Awk!" Bamm, wham, crunch. "Oooooh." Bumpbumpbumpbump. "Uuuuh!" echoed up from below.

"Igor? Are you all right?"

"Oh yeth, Mathter," replied Igor's voice. "Right ath rain. Only thum third-degree burnth, a dithlocated thhoulder, a few compound fractureth, a punctured lung, a ruptured thpleen, a concuthion, and an annoying thubdural hematoma. Don't worry about a thing. I'll have mythelf fithed up in a few minuteth."

"So lightning's electrical then?"

"Oh you have my word on that, Mathter. It'th ath electrical as electrical can be! Alwayth hath been; alwayth will be. Maybe ath much ath a billion voltth."

"Wonderful!" Dr. Ipsofacto beamed. "Splendid fellow. Say Runt, Igor will probably need a little help getting himself onto the operating table, so give him a hand, won't you? Meanwhile, I have an errand or two to run."

̼

A few moments later, Ipse Dixit Ipsofacto heard the sound of grunting behind her. She turned to see her older brother squirming out of a wooden ring. "Where did you come from?"

Once he'd totally emerged, Dr. Ipsofacto stood and said, "Oh hello, Ipse."

"How did you get in here?"

He hid the ring behind his back. Oh, uh, just walked in through the front door."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" She tried to peer around him at the ring. "That wooden ring doesn't have anything to do with quantum, does it?"

"Quantum? Don't know what you're talking about."

"When are you going to give up all that pseudoscientific nonsense and come back to work here at the Alchemists' Guild?"

"What? Making gold? Silly girl, alchemist know nothing about how to turn base metals into gold."

"Oh? Then what are they all doing here?"

"If they know about making gold, then why, in all the history of the guild, has gold only been made one time?"

"One time, yes! That shows that it can be done! All we have to do is to figure out how it was done before, and we'll be able to do it again, and again, and again!"

"Let me show you something," snorted Dr. Ipsofacto, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the room. What could his sister do but follow him? He led the way through the explosion-scorched corridors into the main lobby. He pointed at the display case. "There."

"There what?"

"Why do you think that the one piece of gold which this guild has ever produced is egg shaped?"

"That's part of the conundrum," said Ipse.

"Gold is . . . the 'noble metal', is it not?"

"You know that's what it's called."

"So has it ever occurred to anyone that the noble metal may have something to do with d_raco nobilis_, the noble dragons?"

"What are you getting at?"

"That the missing key ingredient which the Alchemists' Guild has always overlooked is _dragons_!"

"Dragons? Are you crazy?"

"Who told you that? Who? Who? Oh, oh yes. Never mind. Yes, the one reason why the only piece of gold ever produced by the Alchemists' Guild is egg shaped is because it IS an egg . . . a dragon's egg!"

"Think about what you're saying," his sister admonished him. "If a dragon is indeed needed to turn base metals into gold, then the Alchemists' Guild is out of business. The _draco nobilis_ is a magical creature. It feeds on magic. It flies using magic. So if a dragon is truly needed, then a wizard is needed because the wizards are not about to let anyone else go dabbling about in magic."

"Do-dee-do-dee-do," Dr. Ipsofacto hummed happily. "Magic is not needed."

"Q.E.D., do you know something I don't?"

Dr. Ipsofacto giggled as he nodded his head rapidly. He leaned forward and whispered, "Any sufficiently advanced pseudoscience is indistinguishable from magic."

"What's that?"

"I can do with pseudoscience what wizards can do with magic."

"You can summon a dragon?"

Dr. Ipsofacto giggled again. "I can."

"And use the dragon to produce gold?  
>Again he nodded. "I can."<p>

"Unlimited amounts of gold?"

"Yes!"

"We're talking about wealth here, Q.E.D. Unlimited wealth. More money that we can ever imagine!"

Her brother nodded his head enthusiastically.

Ipse Dixit Ipsofacto thought about this for a long time. "Then what do you need me for?"

"Oh, uh, em, can you loan me five dollars?"

̼

Locust Lane was not located in the Shades . . . not quite. When Gaspode realized where the guard was going, he quietly put his stub of a tail between his legs and slunk off to a better part of town1.

"Ah!" exclaimed Carrot coming to a weather-cracked doorway next to a spectacularly dirty window. "Here we are." If a person managed to peer through the smears of grime and grit, he could just make out the words:

College of Certitude

Ejjucashun While U Wait

C.M.O.T. Dibbler, Ph.D., ChancyLure

Angua's jaw dropped. "Dibbler, running a college? Oh this I have to see." Carrot opened the door, and she trotted in.

̼

Runt found Igor laying in a bloody mess at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Luckily, there was one of Igor's gurney parked nearby. With a great deal of grunting, groaning, bleeding, screaming and swearing, Runt hoisted Igor onto the gurney and began wheeling him towards Igor's section of the tower where the surgery was located.

"Uh Igor, can I ask you something?"

"You jutht did."

"Is the Master, uh, crazy?"

"Oh, ath a bedbug. Oh yeth, pretty thoon you'll be theeing villagerth with pitchforkth and torchth gathering outthide. It won't be pretty."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Thuit yourthelf."

"Shoot myself!"

"No, no, no. Not 'thuit yourthelf.' Igor said, 'Thuit yourthelf'."}

"Oh, oh, oh! 'Suit myself'!"

"If you're having trouble with your ear'th, I can change them out before I leave."

"Wait. You're leaving? Why?"

Igor turned a morose eye upon Runt. "What part of 'pitchforkth and torchth' didn't you underthtand?"

"Do you have any idea what the Master's working on?"

"Thumthing to do with dragonth. No, not that kind. The other kind."

"But only magic can summon a noble dragon. And he's not a wizard; he's a mad scientist."

"What'th your point?"

"He'd have to be mad to think he can summon dragons!"

"Kinda putth the 'mad' in 'mad thientitht', doethn't it?"

̼

When Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler heard the friendly tinkle of the little bell over the door, he leapt to his feet with a mile-wide grin on his face. When he saw who it was who had entered, his expression changed from expectant entrepreneur to a cornered thief and then to an overly smarmy smile. "Well, if it isn't my two favorite guardsmen [he looked at Angua], er guards-persons [he looked at Angua again], er guards-humanoid-entities. Welcome!"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dibbler," began Carrot.

"Ah-ah-ah, Doctor Dibbler now. I have a Ph.D."

"Which stands for . . ?"

"Plutocratis hynosium Dibbler."

Angua's eyes squinted with wolf-like suspicion. "Doesn't that mean Dibbler is fixated on making money?" she asked.

He held up his palm. "This is an institution of higher learning but, sorry, no free samples."

Captain Carrot sat casually on Dibbler's desk. "We're carrying out an official investigation. Of course, it has nothing to do with an honest citizen such as yourself. But as an honest citizen, I'm sure you want to help us out."

"Well I, uh, em, er . . ."

"If not, Lance Constable Detritus can be down here shortly with a search warrant. But don't worry. I'll tell him to be extra gentle with your establishment."

Dibbler blanched. "You wouldn't! You couldn't. Please?"

"I'll ask some questions, and you answer them. Okay?"

"Ah!" nodded Dibbler. "I see. The Pseudocratic method."

"You have a graduate named Q.E.D. Ipsofacto."

"Um, er, ah, well I'm not sure. I'll have to check our records. I can't remember every student who comes through here."

"No, no. Mine was a statement, not a question. Now, what is Mr. Ipsofacto's address?"

"His address? Well he's, that is, he's . . . He moved back home after graduation!"

"And where is that?"

"Far away."  
>"A little more precision if you please. Or we could have Lance Corporal Detritus—"<p>

"A dark tower! By a river! Near the based on the Little Big Tiny Mountains! That's all I know!"

Angua glided forward. "What did Mr. Ipsofacto study while he was here?"

"Study? Why, uh, pseudoscience of course."

Carrot held up a finger. "More precision, please."

"What do you mean?"

Angua hissed, "Quantum theory? Quantum mechanics?"

"Oh yes. To be sure."

"And why precisely? What did he hope to use quantum for?"

Dibbler shrugged. "You got me there. I just teach quantum. I don't pretend to understand it."

̼

"I, I, I, I, I," stammered the bank teller. "I don't understand."

"It's all very simple," explained Dr. Q.E.D. Ipsofacto calmly. "I would like to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold."

"I, I, I, I, I, I don't understand."

"Paper money in; gold out."

"I, I, I, I, I, I don't think we do that."

"This is a bank, yes?"

"Well, y-y-y-y-y-yes."

"Good. Then you do do that. Oh yes, you do."

"Take paper money and give gold in exchange?"

"Yes!"

"Oh dear." The teller was turning green. And pale. She was turning pale green. Weakly, she signaled for the senior teller.

"Yes, may I help you?" asked the senior teller, grinning like a sun-bleached skull on one of the Patrician's spikes.

"I would like to exchange a $5 bill for $5 in gold."

"Oh. We don't do that."

"You're a bank?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You handle money?"

"Well of course we handle money!"

"Is this money?" asked Dr. Ipsofacto, holding out the five dollars his sister had lent him.

"Um yes, it appears to be."

"Is gold money?"

"Gold?"

"Yes. Is gold money?"

The senior teller looked around helpless. "I'll have to check."

"Gold is not money?"

"Um," squirmed the senior teller. She signaled for help.

A junior assistant managers slipped in. "Good afternoon, sir. What seems to be the trouble?"

"The trouble is, I'd like to exchange this $5 bill, which this bank issued, for $5 in gold, which this bill says I can do. It says it right here. See that?" He pointed to printing on the back of the bill.

The junior assistant teller chuckled. "But nobody really does that, now do they?"

Dr. Ipsofacto gave him a stern look. "I would like to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold. Please."

"What seems to be the trouble?" harrumphed the senior assistant manager butting in.

"I would like to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold," repeated Dr. Ipsofacto.

The senior assistant manager gave him a cold stare. "Do you have an appointment?"

"For a five-dollar transaction? What kind of bank is this?"

"The best bank is Ankh-Morpork, voted No. 1 in customer satisfaction."

"Ah ha!" gloated the manager bellying up to the counter. "Another happy customer, I see." He beamed with delight.

"No really, sir, no. You see, I'm trying to exchange this $5 bill for $5 in gold—"

"Are we allowed to do that?"

"No sir," replied the junior assistant manager.

"It says I can," hissed Dr. Ipsofacto, "right here on the note that your bank issued."

"We issued?" The manager took the bill and peered at it. "Mr. Ferris-Pyrite, how do you explain this?" He handed the bill to the senior assistant manager.

The man looked disdainfully at it. "Obviously a printing error, sir."

"Ah, there you go!" The manager handed the bill back to Dr. Ipsofacto. "Simple printing error is all. Sorry for the confusion."

Dr. Ipsofacto bristled. "You're not going to exchange the note?"

"Well, we can't. It was a printing error." The manager shrugged helplessly.

"Your $5 bill isn't worth $5 in gold?"

"Now sir, I never said that."

"Good afternoon, all. What's going on?"

"Oh, good afternoon, sir. This, uh, gentleman is insisting we take back one of our $5 bills and give him $5 in gold. I've tried explaining to him that—"

"Oh, is that all?" Moist von Lipwig dug in his pocket and came out with a $5 gold coin. He handed it to Dr. Ipsofacto, took the $5 bill and shoved it into his own pocket. "Everyone happy?"

"Well uh," stammered the bank manager.

"Yes, thank you," said Dr. Ipsofacto.

"No, it is we here at the bank who thank you, the customer, beamed Moist von Lipwig. "Thank you, sir." The nondescript man bowed and then strolled happily off into the back offices.

̼

Angua, her golden ears laid back along her sleek skull, raced across the vast expanse of the Sto Plains towards the foothills of the Little Big Tiny Mountains.

The freedom to run felt so good, so right. As did the wind whipping through her fur and the endless miles passing beneath her paws.

The most misunderstood fact about werewolves is the belief that they only take wolf form during a full moon. In reality, werewolves can change form whenever they like, albeit during a full moon, the urge to take on wolf form is nigh on irresistible. Wolf form brings the advantages of speed, ferocity, enhanced hearing and acute smell. The disadvantages are decreased vision and the problems with having a human mind crushed into the shape of a wolf's brain. Remaining in that form for too long results in the loss of the ability to change back.

But for now, Angua ran.

̼

The next morning, Runt was summoned to the Master's laboratory. Test tubes were bubbling and steaming. Jacob's ladders were sparking and crackling.

"Congratulations, Runt!"

"Thank you, sir," Runt replied. "Er . . . why, sir?"

"You have been selected to be the first person to travel inter-dimensionally!"

Runt looked around. Other than the Master, he was the only one left in the tower. Igor had hot footed it out of there sometime during the night. "Wonderful, sir. What does that mean, sir?"

"It means you are about to travel between dimensions."

"Uh, so I'll just pack a suitcase then, shall I?"

̼

A fine line separates madness from genius. Sometimes the line isn't so much "fine" as it is, well, "non-existent." The Inter-Dimensional Instrument Of Transport was a splendid example of this. The device was a masterpiece of simplicity and lunacy.

It consisted mainly of a series of mirrors, set in a circle with all mirrors slightly askew. When a beam of light stuck one of the mirrors, it was reflected to one of the neighboring mirrors, and from there to the next mirror, and then to the next mirror, _ad infinitum_, creating a vortex. Between the circle of askew mirrors and the tightly shuttered window were the naught holes which Dr. Ipsofacto had recently purchased from Runt. Over them as sprinkled the exploding powder which he'd purchased at Boffo's.

When the powder was lit, it would in turn ignite the naught holes. They would issue the thick, black smoke of nothingness. When the smoke began to clear, the shutters to the tower window would be thrown open, light would filter through the ever-thinning nothingness, where it would fall upon one of the mirrors and would begin its infinite trip around the circle of mirrors.

Like all machines based upon the quantum theory, this one operated using smoke and mirrors.

Runt stared at the Inter-Dimensional Instrument Of Transport2 and gulped. "Dr. Ipsofacto, exactly what is going to happen to me?"

"Ah, it's quite simple, my lad. The Instrument will create a vortex of light around you. This vortex, of course, will open a gateway to another dimension."

"Do I dare ask what dimension?"

"Well technically to the Dungeon Dimension, BUT it's not what you think. There is a portion - a very small portion – of the Dungeon Dimension in which the dragons have taken refuge. Dragons, you see, need magic. They feed off magic. They crave magic. They have fled our dimension because we don't have enough magic here to satisfy them. So there they lay, crushed in, side by side like so many beautiful sardines. But once a non-magical creature such as a dwarf is dropped into their midst, they will have no choice but to flee back here. Oh by the way, be sure to grab onto one of them when they begin to fly away, or else you'll be marooned in the Dungeon Dimension for the rest of all eternity."

Runt was agog. "What makes you think that I'd ever agree to do such a crazy thing!"

Dr. Ipsofacto shrugged. "Five dollars." 

1 More precisely, Gaspode slunk off to a less worse part of town.

2 I assure you, the acronym I.D.I.O.T. is just an unhappy coincidence.


	3. All of Creation

3. All of Creation

Angua could at last see the Dark Tower in the distance. She increased her speed knowing that her prey was almost within biting range.

Suddenly, the world jumped as if Blind Io Himself was dancing the flamenco up in Cori Celestia. Thunder roared, not from the sky, but from everywhere! The violent shaking hurled Angua to the ground.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the quake was over.

Angua stumbled up on the four feet and looked around. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but whatever it was, it had come from the Dark Tower. There was a great evil in that tower. A mad scientist was on the loose, and all of Creation was already trembling.

She had to stop him.

̼

"AAAAAAAAAAAIIiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!"

Runt landed with a thump in total darkness. After regaining his breath, he lifted himself up and looked around for a light, any light. He listened for a sound, any sound. But there were none. He sniffed. This place didn't smell like wyrmstench. It smelled more like dust and dust mites, like ancient paper and dried-up binding glue, like stale air and what was left of decades-old banana peels.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?" said his echo.

"HELLO!"

"HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! SHADDUP!"

"Who's there?"

"Who's there? Who's there? Who's there? Who's there?"

Runt stood up so he could see better.

Off in the distance, a pair of faint lights was coming towards him. The lights came swiftly and silently, never moving from each other, as if they were attached. They looked as if they might be eyes, but they bobbed and weaved and climbed and dove, higher and faster than eyes should have been able to.

Runt watched in hypnotized fascination as they came ever closer and finally glared down at him, obviously eyes. Then a great hairy hand came out of the darkness, seized him, hoisted him, and dropped him over a mighty shoulder. The thing which had captured him uttered a single word, "ook" and then began swinging back the way it came.1

Orangutans are famous for being able to swing wildly and at great speed from branches, cliff faces, elephant tusks, library shelves or any other surface that makes itself available. Dwarves, um, not so much. So when the librarian deposited Runt in the entry chamber of the Unseen University Library, the dwarf was an octorine shade of green.

"Ook?"

"Wh-wh-where am I?" stammered Runt.

"Ook."

"I'm, I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"OOK,' repeated the librarian louder, as if volume alone could replace the need for bilingualism. "OOK, OOK, OOK!"

Runt shrugged helplessly.

The orangutan curled his lips in derision, climbed up the page and brought back the words: "the librarian deposited Runt in the entry chamber of the Unseen University Library." He pointed.

"Oh, I see. So how did I get here?"

"Ook, ook, ook, ook, ook, ook, ook, ook, ook, ook!"

"There are supposed to be dragons."

"EEEKKK! Ook, ook!" The librarian was so furious, he turned a back flip2.

"Please, please! No offense meant. Sorry."

With another disdainful curl of his lip, the orangutan knuckled his way across the floor and out the main door.

̼

Fate was on his feet, livid. "What is going on here?" he roared.

The Lady looked up innocently.

"That dwarf was fated to enter the Dungeon Dimension and to release the dragons! So what is he doing in the Library of the Unseen University!"

"Just lucky, I guess."

"You're cheating again!"

"Look, the little guy was traversing the realm between dimensions, right? He must have gotten tangled up with L-Space; all those magical books twist time and space something awful. It's no wonder he wound up in the wrong place." She smiled.

"Wrong place? Wrong place? I'll show YOU the wrong place!"

̼

Runt Thunderbelch wasn't too sure how he'd ended up in the Patrician's dungeon. He remembered there'd been a lot of soldiers and even more shouting. He remembered being manhandled along. He remembered being dragged out of the Unseen University, through the city, and into the Oblong Office.

"Ahhh, Mr. Thunderbelch, good day." The Patrician was going through a stack of documents and didn't even bother to look up. He was a gaunt man with a pointy black beard and a voice as soft and quiet as a throat being slit.

Runt bowed his head. "Your Majesty."

The Patrician chuckled. "I assure you, my lad, that there is nothing at all majestic about me. I'm just a simple man, doing a job the best he can. And who are you?"

"Me, your Majest—uh, your Patricianess?"

"Yes. Tell me. Who is Runt Thunderbelch?"

Runt thought about this. "A dwarf?"

"Oh, not just a dwarf." The Patrician skipped down a few inches of his stack of papers. He gently tugged out a single sheet and read it. "According to this, you have been attempting to travel between dimensions, to wit, from the Discworld to the Dungeon Dimension."

"How did you—"

"The purpose of your journey is to place a dwarf, namely yourself, in among the dragons. Dragons, as you may know, are repelled by dwarves, something to do with the non-magicalness of your race. The dragons then would flee back to this Discworld, is that right?"

Runt began looking around for a way out.

"Are you aware of the problems we had the last time a dragon escaped from the Dungeon Dimension? One, single dragon? It ended upon the Throne of Ankh-Morpork, and I ended up as its prisoner. Me. If it hadn't been for a one-in-a-million chance . . . Well, I'm sure you get the picture. So the question is: what do I do with you now?"

"Let me off with a stern warning, sir?"

"A stern warning? And interesting suggestion. I think I shall take a slightly different approach. Drumknott, show this gentleman to the deepest cell in the deepest dungeon we have, please."

"But sir," began Drumknott in protest.

The Patrician's merciless eyes fixed themselves on his young clerk. "I said 'please'."

Drumknott wilted. "Yes sir. Immediately, sir. Right away, sir. Of course, sir."

̼

The Lady looked up from the game and laughed. "That is what Fate had in store for him? Prison! Ha ha ha, that's funny. Oooooh, he's a prisoner. Such a terrible fate!"

She laughed so hard She failed to notice that Fate was smiling.

̼

Angua reached the entrance of the Dark Tower. One of the doors had been ripped from its hinges and was lying flat on the floor.

She sniffed for any sign of an ambush. Finding none, she crept cautiously inside.

̼

Drumknott returned. He was desperately trying to hide his trembling. "Sir, please don't get angry, but I need to point something out to you. I have, as you instructed, placed Runt Thunderbelch in the deepest cell in our deepest dungeon. However, cells that deep have no stone walls, no reinforcing of any kind. Mr. Thunderbelch is a dwarf, sir, a dwarf. Placing a dwarf in a cell which has walls made merely of dirt just means he will tunnel his way out."

"Mmm-hum," said the Patrician as he signed another document.

"You know, sir? You put him down there knowing he will tunnel out?"

The Patrician picked up another document and began reading. "Mmm-hum."

"Oh well, but then, that is, I mean . . ."

"Is there anything else, Drumknott?"

"Er, no sir."

"Very good. You may go. If I need you, I shall ring my little silver bell. All right?"

"Yes sir. Of course, sir." Drumknott scurried away.

̼

Fate's black eyes were fixed on the Lady. "All right. What are you up to? Why did you induce the Patrician let the dwarf to escape?"

"Me?" She gasped. "You mean it wasn't You?"

Fate pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh no. Oh no. Someday I will get the Patrician to play by Our Rules, I swear."

The Lady muttered, "Good luck with that."

̼

No one was in any of the lower floors of the Dark Tower. Angua crept up the spiral staircase towards the upper floors. She found the door to the topmost room had been knocked ajar by the creation-quake. Quietly, she pawed the door open, sniffed to find that one person was inside, and she cautiously entered.

Q.E.D. Ipsofacto, Ph.D. was dancing across the stone floor. "I'm going to be rich!" he sang. "Rich, rich, rich, rich, rich! Money will flow like honey! I'll be in dragon eggs to the top of my legs. I'll be bold and I'll be golden. I'll be rich, rich, rich, rich, rich!" He spun and found himself facing a werewolf.

Angua growled deep in her throat.

Dr. Ipsofacto froze then eased two steps to his left. She moved to cut him off. He reversed course, taking several steps to his right. She cut him off again.

"Nice doggie."

She growled again. No one was needed to translate her canine into: "I'm about to rip your throat out, and so bend over and lick your testicles good-bye."

A dark and cloaked figure wavered into view behind Angua. A skull's face grinned from out of the cowl, and a large scythe was gripped in a bony hand. "Q.E.D. IPSOFACTO, HAVE YOU PREPARED YOURSELF?"

The mad scientist glanced left, then right, and then whimpered, turned and dove headfirst into the light vortex.

Thunder roared. Creation was shaken all the way down to the Great A'Tuin. And Angua yipped like a terrified puppy.

Then it was over.

Death's intense blue-points-of-light eyes would have blinked if they'd have had eyelids. He reached inside his cloak, brought out a scroll and a quill pen. Opening the scroll, he sadly gazed down at the entry "Practical Jokes," drew a spidery line through it and shook his skull. "THAT DIDN'T GO AT ALL WELL. I'M BEGINNING TO THINK I'LL NEVER BE GOOD AT HUMOR." He checked the next entry: "Woopie cushion." "WHAT IS SO FUNNY ABOUT A MISLEADING IMMITATION OF A GASEOUS EMISSION?" He shrugged and slowly faded away.

Dr. Ipsofacto had disappeared into the light vortex of the Inter-Dimensional Instrument of Transportation. Wherever he came out would be up to the Gods to decide. It would be wherever his Fate or his Luck took him.

̼

Runt Thunderbelch pushed the last few cobblestones from off the top of his tunnel and stuck his head up into the sunlight. He found himself nose-to-muzzle with a scruffy, little dog. The dog's stub of a tail wagged.

"There's something I want you always to remember and never to forget," said Gaspode to the dwarf. He paused to let his words sink in. "Dogs can't talk." Then, as if to prove his point, he added, "Bark, bark."

But then, because Gaspode was Gaspode, the little scruffy dog just had to conclude, "Quod erat demonstrandum."

̼

The End

1 Q: To where does a 300-pound orangutan take a 77-pound dwarf?

A: Anywhere he wants.

(Sorry.)

2 This back flip is an indication of just how furious the librarian was. Librarians tend to be a pensive and reflective lot, and they rarely engage in impromptu gymnastics.


End file.
